A Chord Of Three
by SpartaLazor
Summary: The battle of Installation 04 has ended, and our Spartan protagonists find themselves immediately thrust right back into action as the Covenant invade Earth. A new AI joins them, Six's sanity is still in question, Emile has something dark in his past, and Chief...he just keeps doing what Spartans were made to do. Sequel to Three Are Better Than One. Rewritten. Rated T to be safe.
1. What's Old is New Again

_Chapter One: What's Old is New Again_

"For the hundredth time, Six that just sounds stupid," Emile said, folding his arms as he glared down at the terminal. Noble Six was shown on the screen, and he looked tired. All three of the Spartans did. "And it just doesn't make any sense, either."

On screen, Six shook his head and rubbed his tired eyes. He was on a transport on its way to Earth since he had somehow managed to get some time off. _"No, my idea was much better. Yours...yours is just old-fashioned. You need to think outside the box." _He was trying to keep his voice down so he wouldn't disturb the rest of the Marines on the Pelican, most of which were asleep. _"Hell, you need to think in general."_

Emile scoffed. "You're an asshole, you know that?" He looked over his shoulder at the Master Chief, who was relaxing on his cot, about to fall asleep. Chief and Cortana had been in debriefings all day over the whole Halo incident, and Chief was wiped out. Funny how several days of non-stop combat won't tire a Spartan, but a single day of meetings with high-ranking officers will wipe one out.

"Hey, Chief, who's right?" Emile asked, "Me or Six?"

Chief groaned. "I'm not getting into this argument again. I thought my idea was pretty decent, but you guys shot that down fast." He rolled over so he faced toward the stale gray wall. "But if I have to answer the question...neither of you."

The pedestal next to the terminals illuminated in a blue light, and Cortana appeared, looking slightly annoyed. Emile looked at her for a moment, noticing that in spite of the scowl on her face, she looked different. "You've changed," he commented. "You're more...pink, than I remember."

She nodded. "Yes, I altered my avatar slightly; that purple wasn't that appealing anymore. And I "grew" my hair out longer." Cortana spread her arms wide. "But don't I look better than before?"

"Yeah, I never cared much before, and I don't care much now," Emile replied. "But we need an unbiased opinion on a debate right now. Hopefully, you'll be able to oblige."

Cortana shrugged. "I doubt it. If this is still that whole stupid debate about what Six is going to be bringing back from Earth, for _lunch, next week, _then I want no part of it. Honestly, I thought you guys would act more serious."

Emile huffed at her remarks. "Serious? This _is _serious." He nodded to Chief. "Chief says he wants hamburgers. I want pizza. Six is for fried chicken, even though it's probably some cloned, genetically altered shit that tastes fake."

Cortana glared at John. "I assume that you're wanting me to take your side in this right?"

"Well, you are my AI. So, it wouldn't hurt," Chief replied, without looking up.

"Just because we were paired together doesn't mean we have to agree with each other."

"I thought you'd say that," Chief muttered.

"First question," Cortana said, turning back to Emile. "Why are you sticking to the old American cuisine? Where's the culture? Why not grab something more...edible? There's tons of places all over Earth that Six could get food from."

Emile nodded. "Yes, there are. But he's not going all over the world. He's just going to help Ashley set up in her new place, and then spend some time with her. Which isn't fair, because Chief and I did most of the work on Halo. All Six did was get hurt."

"If you want to argue with someone about it, take it up with ONI," Cortana said. "They're the ones that requested leave for him and Ashley." She smiled to herself for almost no apparent reason. "And we all know that ONI likes to pamper Six. He's their little experiment."

"Yeah," Emile replied, voice rising slightly in defense. "And I'm getting sick and tired of all that."

Cortana wasn't sure, but she thought she detected some jealousy in Emile's eyes. "Don't worry about it," Cortana reassured him, "when you think about it literally, that mean Six is simply a lab rat."

Emile thought it over, and eventually just agreed with her. "Yeah, we'll go with that. Anyway, you had further questions? About our lunch debate?"

"Right." Cortana motioned to the door. "Why not just eat in the mess hall, like usual? The food there's probably better than anything Six'll bring back, and I hear that there's going to be non-cloned meat in there today. That should taste good."

"You're seeing it all wrong," Emile told her. "You're an AI, so you're simply thinking about taste. There's a lot more to food than taste."

"Oh, here were go," groaned Chief, covering his head with the pillow to drown out Emile's voice.

"First there's quality," Emile said, counting off on his hand. "Then there's style, then taste, and last but not least, quantity."

Cortana stared blankly at him. "Okay...I'm just going to leave before you go any farther." She turned to the comm screen, where Six was watching the whole scene quietly. "Are you going to tell me yet?" Cortana asked, referring to the golden band, possibly a wedding ring, she saw on Six's ring finger after they narrowly escaped Halo.

Six sighed. _"That's the third time you asked today,"_ he complained, casting a quick glance to the side as a Marine mumbled something about flowers while in a drunken sleep. _"My answer remains the same. No. Quit asking me. And leave it the hell alone."_ With that, he cut the comm, leaving them staring at a blank screen.

Cortana was caught off guard by Six's reaction. She did constantly pester him about it, even though she was smart enough to figure it all out. She just wanted to hear it from his own mouth.

"And my question remains the same," Emile said, flopping down on his cot. "What the hell was that all about? You two've been going at it for days, and no one's filling me in. Seriously, what's up?"

The AI hesitated for a second. Should she tell him, and hopefully then Six would spill the beans when they ganged up on him? Or should she just keep it a secret and let it slide for a while. She went with the second option.

"...it's none of your concern," Cortana answered, and then left with a simple flicker.

Emile stared at the roof as the room went silent again. He sighed in boredom. Nothing ever happened around here. The most exciting thing that had happened was getting here.

"Hey, Chief?"

Chief groaned. He was so close to being asleep, and Emile just had to ruin it. "What is it?"

"When are we getting our new armor?"

"They're being prepared right now, so...probably any time now."

Emile nodded. That was good. At least he had something to look forward to. None of them had any idea as to what they were going to do next. His best guess was that things would go back to normal. Running around on human planets, shooting at the Covenant, and then pulling out as the planet was lost. Ah, the good old days.

* * *

><p>"Listen up ladies," boomed the Pelican pilot's voice over the intercom. "We're touching down in ten minutes at Nassau Station. Once we're there, everyone needs to get their asses off since this is the last run of my shift. Is that clear?"<p>

Apparently, the Spartans weren't the only ones who were exhausted today. After a few mumbled yes sirs, the Pelican was silent again.

Six looked down at the red-haired woman resting her head on his shoulder. It had been a long ride, and she needed somewhere to take a nap. So, Six offered his shoulder. "Are you sure about this?" he asked, knowing that it would drive her crazy. "You didn't really think about it that much."

"There wasn't much to think about," Ashley replied. "I got out of all of this, and now I can live a nice normal life of a civilian. No more running around on our planets, shooting at the Covenant, and then pulling out when we lost. Those days are over. I'm moving on to soap operas and gossiping with friends."

Six rolled his eyes. He doubted that Ashley would make any friends. Not that she wasn't social, but considering that she was easily taller than most people. That was an intimidating factor, and people would probably avoid her.

"Well, what about him?" Six asked, knowing that he was hitting a weak spot on Ashley. "What about your son?"

Ashley lifted her head off of his shoulder, and glared at him with a look that would've sent even the hardest of ODSTs running for cover. "What about him?"

Six shrugged. "I don't know. Shouldn't you do something for him, or something like that? You're his mother, for crying out loud. Don't you feel the need to help?"

"I might have, if the the first time I saw him wasn't a few days ago," she answered. "But no. I never saw him until you dragged him along behind you that one time. The minute I gave birth to him, ONI swoops in, takes him away, and then I'm slapped back into combat the following day. It was back to business as usual."

By now, most of the Marines on the Pelican that were sober were watching the conversation, and slowly sliding away from the two Spartans in case a full on fight broke out.

"Nineteen years pass by," Ashley went on, folding her arms and refusing to look at Six, "I forgot all about him, which was perfectly fine since I never cared for him anyway. Life went on, and he was just a faint memory that I wish never happened."

"But, Ash," Six protested, "he's still your child. Nothing's going to change that. All you have to do is just accept that and get on with your life. I'm not asking you to take care of him or anything. All I'm asking is that you at least show some care to your offspring."

Ashley turned her head and glared at him with an icy stare. "No. We're Spartans. We're not some dumb civilian with all of those lovey-dovey emotions. Those just make us weak." She paused. "Those bastards took everything from us when they made us what we are."

"They gave you a choice," Six reminded her, putting his hand on her shoulder. She wriggled free of it instantly. "You could've just turned away, and lived a normal life like everyone else. You didn't have to become a Spartan."

"You don't understand, Six," Ashley told him, with a shake of her head. "My parents, my brother, my grandparents, my entire family had just been killed. I had no idea what to think or do; I was only ten. I lost all I had and gave up my humanity that day."

Six shook his head. "Not all of it. We may be made to kill, but we're still people too."

The Pelican shuddered as it touched down, and the pilot came back on the intercom. "We've landed. Now get your asses out of my ship, right now." The back hatch creaked open, lowering down and provided the passengers with a ramp out. Marines bolted from their seats, retreating to a safe distance from the fight.

"Normal people look at us and see heroes, saviors," Six went on, rising from his seat. "They look up to us, they respect us."

Ashley scoffed. "We're just freaks to the them." She grabbed her bags, all of them, and stormed off the Pelican. "And you yourself called them normal people," she said, turning back to Six. "That just means that you don't believe anything you just said."

Six watched as she left, tossing her bags into the trunk of her rental luxury car, and driving off. "There goes my week," he muttered, walking back up to the pilot. Without her, he had no reason to even be on the planet. "Hey, when are you heading back up?" he asked the agitated Pelican pilot.

The pilot only groaned and dropped his face on the controls. "Look, I've been running people up and down all day. This flight made my seventh today. I'm tired and angry, and I'm going home. You'll just have to find someone else." He climbed out of his seat, and left.

Six sighed. "Great. Fortunately, I happen to know someone who's good at flying Pelicans," he said to himself, as he climbed up into the pilot's seat. But before he fired up the engines, he squinted in the direction that Ashley's car had gone, and he swore he could still make it out in the far distance. His heart was filled with pain, well-knowing that his relationship with her just took a steep dive, and probably never would go back to the way it used to be.

He looked down at his hand, and the small golden ring on it. "Things won't ever go back to being the same," he told himself, pulling it off and tossing it to the ground.

* * *

><p>Tallert looked over the mess hall, noticing the new recruits gathering around in groups, wide-eyed and scared, while the veteran Marines calmly ate as they sized up the recruits. His eyes scanned over the room, hoping to find his two friends.<p>

He smiled as he saw them sitting at their usual table in the corner. "Sorry I'm late," he apologized, sitting down with them. "I hope I didn't miss anything."

Private Jesse Gomez shook his head. "Nah, nothing's really happened. These new guys are getting the feel of Marine life," he said, nodding toward the recruits. "Man, Sergeant Miller's going to eat them alive."

Corporal Gary Burgoff nodded. "Yeah, but at least they didn't get Johnson or Stacker. They'd put them through hell about six times a day."

"Wait, Miller got the promotion?" Tallert asked, distress on his face. "That's not fair. I had to drag his sorry ass around when he got wounded that one time. And the worst part was when he stole my girl away from me."

Gary and Jesse shot each other a quick glance. "Dude, Karrie doesn't like you, and she probably never will," Jesse told him. "We've told you that a thousand times, and you've never gotten through that your head yet.

"I still can't believe he got promoted," Tallert muttered, ignoring what his friend had said. "That just adds to my bad day. Already, I've had to clean the squads guns, clean the squads quarters, and I just got back from Earth. I had to..." he trailed off, pulling the metal dogtags from his pocket. "I had to tell Anna and Sarah what happened."

"Who?"

"Wiersbe's wife and daughter," Tallert explained with a heavy sigh. He had lost his best friend early on during the fight on the ring. He and his old pal Wiersbe had been through training together, and fought together during the last days of Reach. "She said that they already knew that he wasn't coming home, but they still took it hard."

Gary snickered. "I bet they like taking it hard."

"That's not even funny," Jesse scolded, shooting a sharp glance. "They just lost the man of the house. You shouldn't be making any jokes."

"Oh come on, you had to think it was funny."

"I didn't."

Tallert shook his head, stashing the dogtags back into his pocket. "That wasn't funny, that was just downright inappropriate."

Jesse seemed to remember something just then, because he suddenly perked up. "Oh, hey Tallert, there's been some rumors going around about you. People have claimed that your real mother was a Spartan. Is that true?"

"Well, yes and no," Tallert replied. "She is my biological mother, but I don't really care for her. She didn't raise me. I was raised by some nice people who took real good care of me." His mind was filled with memories of his childhood, everything from his first crush in second grade from the time he broke his arm in high school. His parents were always there for him, even if it inconvenienced them. What had that Spartan done for him? Nothing. "I don't even give a damn about that Spartan."


	2. Into Hell Once More

_Chapter Two: Into Hell Once More_

Sergeant Guns sighed, looking over the remains of Chief's Mark V armor. There were gashes and scratches and burns and dents. "Well, it looks like you took a hell of a beating out there," he commented. "A239's armor was in better condition. We were actually able to salvage and repair most of it. Took us a week to get the HUD back online, though."

Chief shrugged, swiping his new helmet from the armory's table. "It's just in my job description."

"Yeah, you can say that again." Guns tossed the unidentifiable piece of armor back down to the table, and turned back to Chief. "Do you have any idea how expensive this stuff is, son?"

"Tell that to the Covenant," Chief replied, sliding the helmet over his head, and it sealed there with a pressurized hiss. He looked around the room, adjusting to the new HUD. It was close to the same as his old armor's HUD, although this one had the shield status above the motion tracker, instead of at the top corner.

Guns smiled and nodded approvingly at Chief's new armor. "This Mark V was all obsolete anyway. Your new set is a Mark VI; just came up from Sondheim this morning, along with A239's new armor." He gestured to a large, unopened crate. "We left him a little room for customization."

"Oh, good," Emile said, walking into the armory. He was still in his fatigues, and it was obvious that he wanted to be back inside something with an energy shield installed in it. "My armor's here."

"Yeah, put it on and we can put it through some test," Guns told him. "Chief and I have to go through some preliminary armor tests, and then I'll be over to assist you."

Six walked into the room, clad in his prototype Gen II Mark VI that ONI had supplied him. "Damn, Chief," he commented at the sight of the new armor. "Almost to the same level I'm at." Six motioned to his own Mark VI armor, the newer model.

Chief simply rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to Guns. "Come on over to the zapper," Guns instructed him. "We need to make sure the shields will come back online whenever they're drained, and then we need to do some calibration."

Swiping a DMR as he passed, Six walked over to Emile and inspected Emile's new armor. "Wow, that pretty much looks the same," he remarked, noting that it was a suit of armor designed for Spartan IIIs. "It's even got your old helmet and knife shoulder thing."

"Yeah, that's because I made sure I got those back." Emile pulled the undersuit from the crate, stripped off his clothes, and pulled the undersuit on. To Spartans, they rarely cared about decency in front of others. As long as they kicked ass, obeyed their orders, and won the fight, the who cares?

"You want to give me a hand?" Emile asked, as he began to slowly attach the armor. Six shrugged, setting the DMR on his back and began attaching Emile's leg armor. "You know, this looks a little more silver than I wanted it to be."

"Yeah, well, there's hardly any difference between your old dull gray, and this bright silver," replied Six. "So quit your bitching."

"But...just look at it. It's like a freaking mirror! I can see myself in it!"

After another few minutes, Emile was finally suited up in his new armor, while still complaining about the shininess. Most of his armor was the same, but his normal Grenadier chest had been replaced with a HP HALO chest piece, and he now had a Tac-Pad on his left wrist, with his shotgun shells on the right. And it was a nice, shiny silver. He still had his Security Shoulder with the kukri on his right side.

He admired himself, nodding in approval. "Despite the silver, this looks pretty badass," he commented, reaching over and swiping an M90 off a nearby weapon rack and striking a pose. "Pretty badass, huh?"

Six shrugged. "Eh...maybe, but not as badass as I am."

"Oh bullshit."

"My armor is new, and one of a kind," Six retorted. "Generation II."

Emile scoffed. "That doesn't make it better."

A woman walked into the room, carrying a slim briefcase in one hand. She had her blonde hair pulled back into a bun, and dark shades over her eyes to conceal her identity. On her standard gray business outfit, there was a pyramid with a circle shown with pride.

"Noble Six?" she asked, looking over the Spartans as she set her briefcase down on a table. "We need to have a little...chat."

"She's ONI," Emile whispered to Six, taking notice of the emblem. "I would be careful. It could be a trap."

Six shook his head. "What? That doesn't even make sense," he said, walking to the woman and saluting her. "Ma'am."

The woman smiled with a light laugh. "Drop the formalities, Spartan. What I have for you won't take long." She pressed her thumb against a scanner on the top of the briefcase, and several seconds later the latches automatically unlocked.

"Since our department is so fond of giving you experimental technology for testing purposes," the woman said, opening the case to reveal a single, small, rectangle in the middle of the case, "we've brought you a little prototype. A new form of AI."

Six blinked in surprise. He certainly wasn't expecting that. "Wait, you're giving me an AI?" he asked, just for confirmation. "Just like Cortana?"

"No. CTN 452-9 is an older model," the woman replied, handing the AI chip to Six. "This one, CRA 234-4, is much newer; complied from a brand-new technique that, if proven to be worth it, will have revolutionized artificial intelligences as we know it. Cara, as we like to call her, is superior to Cortana."

"I don't think Cortana's going to like hearing that," Emile muttered, slinging his shotgun to his back before searching out as many shells as he could find. "You know, she's always been our AI, and she's not going to like having to share that role."

"Maybe so," the woman said, addressing Emile, "but she'll have to simply deal with it. Cara can do everything that Cortana can do, and more. CTN 452-9 is now obsolete."

Chief, who had simply been watching the event from the armor testing stations, clenched his fists and took a step forward in defense of his AI. He stopped when he realized what he was doing.

The woman cast a glance at the Spartan, before letting out an amused breath. When she was sure that Chief wasn't going to take any further action, she smiled. "It might be hard for some of you to understand that, but that's the truth." She slammed her suitcase and walked out of the room silently.

"Well, that happened," commented Emile, shoving a handful of shotgun shells into his ammo pouch. "To be honest, I don't like her. She's kind of a bitch."

Six nodded, looking down at the chip in his hands. "Yeah, tell me about it." He brought the chip up to his visor, studying it. The chip itself looked exactly like Cortana's, but this one had the AI's name and number written in small black in one corner, and the glowing blue center was a lighter shade of blue.

With a flash of lightish blue, the AI appeared on the chip. "Hello!" she chirped cheerily. Cara was standing causally with her hands folded behind her back, looking as happy as a fat kid with a moa burger. "I'm CRA 234-4," she said, extending her hand to Six. "It's nice to meet you, Sierra B312."

Six looked her over. She had the same texture as Cortana, the whole circuit thing going on there. Her navy hair was longer and more flowing, and she depicted herself as much younger than Cortana; about midteens.

"It's, um...nice to meet you, too," Six replied, holding his finger out to shake her hand. It went through the hologram, but they both didn't care. "Your name is Cara, right?"

"Ah, so ONI gave you my name," she said, as if this were something surprising to her. "That's good. Did they also give you my main functions, as well as everything else that I was tau...programmed to do?"

"Um...no."

Cara's smile just seemed to grow wider. "That's great! For future reference, I was made and designed to assist all Spartan IV personnel in the use of Generation II Mjolnir armor variants. I see you have the standard Mark VI. It looks great on you."

Six shrugged modestly. "Yeah, well. This is just what was given to me."

Emile laughed, and leaned over to Chief. "You remember that date we were going to try to get Six a while back?" he asked. "I think we might have just found a perfect match for him. She seems completely ready to kiss his ass at will." Chief nodded with a half-hearted chuckled, but he was still glaring at the AI.

Cara continued to list what she could do. "I'm also able to calculate slip-space jumps, analyze combat situations to determine the best course of action, translate various Covenant, Human, and I have an algorithm to study the Forerunner glyphs in hope of better translating them. In addition, I can also access terminals and other various interfaces, regulate your armor's settings, relay communications through multiple channels, and provide intellectual support, not to mention someone to talk to. But my main purpose is to collect statistics and information readouts from various parts of your armor, and transmit the results to ONI so they can improve the future models of Generation II Mjolnir."

Six whistled. "Damn. Anything else you can do?"

She shrugged sheepishly. "I can also play solitaire and minesweeper."

"I already have a task for you to complete," Six told her, as he slipped the chip into the empty slot on the back of his helmet. "And trust me, this is something important."

"What is it? I'll do it."

"Pull up the stations schematics, and find the nearest vending machine. Preferably one with Coke."

"On it." Three seconds pass, and Cara has accomplished her mission. "There's none in this sector. The nearest one is on your way to the bridge, where you'll meet up with Fleet Admiral Hood for this ceremony."

Emile groaned as he overheard the reply. "Do we have to go to that?" he asked, folding his arms in annoyance. "I was going to head down to the shooting range, and put some Marines, hopefully some ODSTs as well, to shame."

"Yeah, we need to go to that ceremony," Chief told his comrade. "We should probably start heading over now, just to make sure that we get there in time." As he turned for the door, Sergeant Guns stopped him.

"Wait, before you go," Guns said, typing something into his computer, "I still need to run some more tests on your shields, Chief." He nodded toward a red square on the floor, with various machines around it. "Can you stand there, please?"

With a grunt of agitation, Chief stood in the square as the machines whirred to life around him. There was a high-pitched whine, similar to a charging plasma pistol, and then his shields went down, crackling up and down his armor like yellow lightning.

Chief rolled his eyes at the beeping in his helmet, which alerted him to the loss of shields. He had heard it millions of times, and all it did was piss him off. He hardly ever listened to it, and he was still here, about to get some awards for his action on an alien ring. That had to say something about it.

Guns nodded, checking the readouts on the terminal. "So far so good, he said, as Chief's shields flashed and regenerated. "There we go. We're all good now. Just be sure to find some cover when your shields are down, and you'll be just fine."

"Or, he can hide behind me." Sergeant Avery Johnson walked out of the elevator that had just reached the armory. "How's my boy, Guns?" he asked, looking Chief up and down with a scrutinizing glare. "I don't see any training wheels..."

Guns nodded. "Yeah, but he still needs to get used to the armor." He turned to Chief. "Take it easy, don't do anything strenuous until you're used to the armor. We can't have any problems with the hero of humanity, now can we?"

"Don't you worry about it, Guns," Johnson assured him. "I'll hold his hand." He motioned for the Spartans to get on the elevator. "Come on, we have a ceremony to go to, and hopefully we'll get some nice time on TV while we're at it."

Chief cocked his head to the side. "There's going to be cameras?"

Johnson opened his mouth to say something, but then stopped. He was one of the few people that knew about Chief's aversion to cameras, and no one knew what caused it. "Um...no. I was just trying to be, you know...never mind. Let's go."

The Spartans packed into the elevator, making it quite cramped. There was barely enough room for the three Spartans, let alone Johnson.

"So Johnson," Guns started, as the Sergeant pressed the button. "When are you going to tell me how you got home in one piece?"

Johnson shook his head as the elevator doors began to close. "Sorry, Guns, that's classified."

"Classified my ass!" Guns shouted as the lift began upward. "Well, then you can forget about the adjustments to your A2 scope..." He was cut off as the elevator kept going up, putting him out of earshot.

"Well, he's in a fine mood," Six commented. "Looks like someone got left out of the ceremony. Lost his invitation in the mail, or what not."

Emile chuckled. "This ceremony is only for heroes, and as far as I can tell, he's just a Marine."

The elevator reached its destination, which was an observation deck with an inter-station tram in it, waiting for some passengers. A few Marines passed by, dragging their drunken buddy back to their quarters. The drunk guy vomited on the floor as the Spartans and Johnson walked out of the lift.

"Well, that's classy."

Johnson shook his head sadly, before shouting out at the Marines helping the drunken to clean it up, or they'll have to deal with him later. They didn't need to be told twice, and argued over who was going to get and use the mop.

"Now that that's taken care of," Johnson nodded toward the giant glass window. "Earth. I haven't seen her in years..." He led the Spartans into the tram, and the glass door silently slid shut behind them. "She's beautiful, isn't she?"

Emile stared at the planet, feeling some emotion that he normally bottled up rising in his stomach. He didn't know what it was, but the sight of Earth was amazing. Reach and every other planet had been just the same, but Earth was something else. Nearly ten-thousand years of civilization, the birthplace of his species. Emile was awestruck.

Johnson went on. "When I shipped out for basic, the Orbital Defense Grid was all politics and theory. Now, the Cairo is one of three hundred Geo-Sync platforms. Each one of those MAC guns could put a round through a Covenant Capital Ship."

"There's no need to tell us this," Six said, trying to pass off his wonder of Earth. "Cortana already told us this about a hundred times, but she went into much more detail. And let me tell you one thing. History is not my strong suit." He gestured to his armor. "This is my strong suit."

There was a light laughter between the few of them, before it was all business again. "Ships have been arriving all morning," Johnson said, "and nobody's saying much, but everyone's got the feeling that something big is about to happen."

The tram door slid open, allowing them access to the short walkway to the command center of the station, where the ceremony was to take place. Some Marines loitered around outside the door, and there were a few camera drones flying around.

One of the drones swooped in and got a close up shot of Chief before the Spartan swatted it away. "I thought you said that there weren't going to be any cameras," he said, glaring down at Johnson.

"And you said that you were gonna wear something nice," Johnson replied, gesturing to Chief's armor. Despite it being new, there were several scratches on it, and the paint had chipped in some places. "Folks need heroes, Chief. Gives them hope. So smile will ya? All three of you. Smile while we still got something to smile about."

Inside of the bridge, Marines were standing in neat, organized rows, saluting as the Spartans passed. Occasionally, one would whistle or cheer, and some others would laugh at this, but other than that it was professional.

"You know," Six said, looking over the Marines. Each one seemed to be thankful and considerate of the Spartans, and none had made any of their usual remarks about them being robots or freaks. "They really respect us. If this is what happens when we save the world, we need to do it more often."

Admiral Terrance Hood met them at the stage, hands folded behind his back, and a weak smile on his stressed face. Looks like he read the few reports of the Flood. "Gentlemen, due to your brave actions and true heroism in the line of duty, we are pleased to welcome you aboard the Cairo Station."

Several Marines cheered and clapped, and somewhere along the line a confetti cannon was set off. Little, multi-colored pieces of paper floated to the ground. "Seriously, Jensen? What the hell?" a Marine muttered.

Hood waited until the troops had settled down, and went on, pacing back and forth on the stage. "On behalf of the UNSC, I sincerely wish to thank you for your service to humanity, and for your destruction of a Covenant armada."

More cheers erupted from the crowd, this time mainly from the people who hadn't heard about the Spartan's exploits, and were only there because their date somehow talked them into it.

"While your actions, Serria 117, Serria A239, Serria B312, and Sergeant Major Avery Johnson were unable to save most of the crew of the Pillar of Autumn, the destruction of the Covenant armada has slowed their progress against us, buying humanity valuable time."

Hood looked over to his second in command, who stood off to the side with a large box in his hands. The Admiral motioned to him, and the stout little man came running over. Hood selected a medal from the box and walked over to the Sergeant Major.

"Avery Johnson, the Colonial Cross is awarded for acts of daring and devotion," Admiral Hood said, as Johnson puffed out his chest, proud to be a Marine, as Hood pinned on the medal. "For a soldier of the United Earth Space Corp, there can be no greater honor."

Marines burst into a round of applause, and Johnson smiled to himself.

Admiral Hood went back to the box, and retrieved another medal. A Marine ran up to him, and began whispering in Hood's ear. "...and you're sure?" the Admiral asked, several seconds later. "...alright. We'll make this fast. Get the cameras out or off. We don't want to start a panic."

Six and Emile shot each other a look. "Start a panic?" Emile asked, keeping his voice low so only his fellow Spartans could hear. "You know what that means. The Covenant found another one of our planets."

"Yeah, but which one?" Six said back. "I hope it's not some heavily populated place. Chances are, that's where we'll be sent next, and I don't want to relive my experiences as a civilian evac guy." The Spartan shuddered as horrible memories came flooding back to him. The little girl still haunted his mind from time to time, but Six wasn't having hallucinations anymore.

Admiral Hood sighed, and his face told the story. Somewhere, a ton of humans were about to lose their lives and the UNSC couldn't do anything to stop it. "I apologize to everyone, but we're going to have to make this fast," he said, addressing the concerned crowd. "Something has come up."

He then turned back to another person, a woman standing off to the side of the stage, looking rather nervous. "Commander Miranda Keyes," he dressed her, walking over to her. "Your father's actions were keeping with the highest traditions of military service. His bravery in the face of impossible odds reflects great credit upon himself and the UNSC. The Navy has lost one of its best."

Commander Keyes took the medal with a solemn look in her eyes. Six squinted at her, noticing something strange. "Hey Emile, doesn't she look familiar from somewhere?"

"Um...to me? No."

"She looks kinda like Halsey..."

"Six, they're not related," Emile told him. "They have different last names. And maybe they do look alike, but that's only coincidence."

"Really?"

"Of course. I've always said that I look like Samuel L. Jackson, and I'm not related to him."

"...who the hell is-"

"We just picked up another whisper, sir," Cortana said, appearing on the pedestal next to the stage. "This one was near Io. I've already sent some probes to scope it out, Admiral, but things are not looking good."

Admiral Hood sighed, and lowered his head. He couldn't bear to look at the Marines. If what looked like it was about to happen actually happened, most, if not all, of the Marines would be dead within a week.

When the Admiral didn't reply, lost in his thoughts, Cortana turned to the Spartans and Johnson. She smiled, looking them over. "You look nice."

"Thanks."

"Thank you."

John and Johnson looked at each other, while Six and Emile face-palmed.

That's when everything went to hell.

Alarms went off, encompassing the room in a red light. Marines started cursing, and preparing their weapons as Cortana ran a scan. "Admiral. I've got fifteen Covenant capital ships on the long-range. They're holding their position just outside of the kill box." She brought the screens behind Hood online, showing the events so far.

Some UNSC ships began moving toward the Covenant ships, priming their weapons. _"This is Admiral Harper," _a voice crackled over the comms. _"We're moving to engage the enemy."_

"Negative," Hood said. "Fall back and form a defensive perimeter around the cluster." The Admiral turned back to the crowd and began barking orders. "Commander Keyes, get to your ship. Cortana you have the gun; hit them when they're in range. Marines, to your battle stations!"

Cortana smiled deviously, rubbing her hands together. "Don't worry, you can count on me, sir. I'll gladly blast them out of the sky."

The Spartans stood idle, looking around as the chaos ensued. "I don't know about you," Emile said, pulling his shotgun off his back, "but I'm in the mood to kick a little ass today."

"So am I," Six joined, grabbing his DMR. "Chief, it'll be just like old times. Running around, shooting the Covenant, saving the day. You in?"

"I just don't get it," Hood mused to himself, looking over the screen. "The fleet that destroyed Reach was fifty times this size...why did they-"

"Sir!" a Marine shouted, running up to the open door, Battle Rifle in hand. "We've got additional contacts. They sent boarding crafts! I suggest that we get you to safety immediately!"

Hood waved him off. "They want to get the MAC guns offline," he realized, piecing it together. "Then they'll have a clear shot at Earth." He whirled around to face the supersoldiers behind him. "Spartans, defend this station! If you let them take out the guns, then I don't think any of us will come out of this alive."

Chief nodded. "Yes sir." Then he noticed that he was the only one of the three without a gun. "I need a weapon," he said, looking over to Johnson.

"Right this way," Johnson said, running out of the room and toward a weapons cache. Chief followed, while Six and Emile looked at each other.

"I knew that something would ruin our vacation," Six muttered. "I just wish that it was something less...Covenanty."

Emile smacked him on the back of the neck, and went off into battle. Some Marines were setting up a barricade to ambush any Covenant trying to get through to the command center.

Six shrugged. "Well, into hell we go."

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: This chapter was un-betaed, so there's bound to be a few errors in it. If you see any, let me know and I'll fix them. **_

_**But yeah, I'm sure that you all agree that this is much better than the original version. I personally think I did much better with the ceremony time part. Anyway, there's not much more to say now, other than the fact that I'm having some issues with another author on this site...but I'm not going into details at the moment.**_

_**Peace out!**_


	3. Relapse

_Chapter Three: Relapse_

The tension was so thick that you could cut it with a plasma dagger. Marines had their rifles aimed at the metal door that the Covenant would try to breach, taking deep breaths and muttering comforts to themselves so they could face the combat that was about to take place.

Chief pulled a Battle Rifle off the weapons rack on the wall, and slapped an SMG to his hip. Taking a second Battle Rifle, he turned to Emile. "Here, your shotgun won't do too well at long range." He tossed the weapon to his comrade.

Emile caught it by the stock with one hand. "Thank you very much," he said. The Spartan looked longingly at his shotgun and sighed. "Don't worry, old friend," he told it, petting the weapon fondly. "You'll get your time to shine soon enough."

The Marines had set up a small barricade of crates, and the Marines that couldn't fit behind it were stuck behind the fragile glass screens that adorned the small room. Johnson was setting up a heavy machine gun turret with such a speed that showed he had been in this war since the start.

Six checked his DMR, and smiled when he was satisfied. "Cara, get combat-ready," he ordered his AI. Humorously, Cara emitted the sound of a sniper rifle bolt getting pulled back as Six joined the Marines at the barricades. Just the sight of one of the three massive, power-armored beings was enough to make any Marine have the will to fight.

"Have you ever notice how moral goes up when we're around?" Six asked, noting how most Marines suddenly seemed pumped and ready to go. "I guess that's because we're symbols of heroism and badassery."

"Actually," Emile said, pulling out the clip of his Battle Rifle. "It's just because no one wants to look like a pussy in front of a Spartan."

"...right. Which is kinda what I said, just in a different context."

"Less chit-chat, more preparing for an ass-whoopin'" Johnson snapped, passing the machine gun turret to a Marine and taking up an Assault Rifle. "Today, the Covenant come to our home. They've been pushing us around for decades, thinking that we are worthless imbeciles to be eliminated." The Sergeant Major was pacing behind the barricade, making eye contact with every Marine there.

"Maybe we are worthless imbeciles," he went on, "I know some of you are." Johnson shot a sharp glance at one Marine in particular. There were a few forced laughs, but that was it. "But we will be the imbeciles that will send them packing. We are going to send them home dead or close to it! We are going to put every last bullet into them! Then we'll use knives! Then our fists! I want any damn Elite baby born into a family where their parents are missing limbs or are dead altogether!"

There was a small roar from the Marines manning the barricade, and some from a few that had caught the speech over the radio.

"Remember your fallen brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, and everyone else that the Covenant have slaughtered. Today is the day that the Covenant learn what they're really up against! What we can do when we band together! Men, when that door opens, all I want to hear is gunfire, and all I want to see is blue alien blood on the floor! Am I clear?"

"Sir yes sir!" the Marines chanted, feeling a wave of rejuvenation wash over them. Every Marine's eyes lit up with hatred and venegance. The only way that they would feel satisfaction was over massive alien bloodshed. The Spartans had nothing on Johnson when it came to moral.

Grinning, the Sergeant Major turned back to the Spartans. "You see, I know what keeps our boys and girls inspired. You, Chief, on the other hand, are a little quiet."

Chief shrugged, and nodded slightly.

"Sergeant! They're coming!"

A shower of sparks danced from the bottom of the door's seam, and slowly made it's way up. The Covenant were breaking through the doors. Once they had cut the lock, they could easily burst their way into the room.

"Weapons ready!" Johnson bellowed, pointing to the door. "Nothing but gunfire and alien blood!"

The Spartans shared some glances among themselves. This was the first combat they were going into since their last run on Halo. They had kept up on training, but the stress was starting to get to them.

"Six, I want you to focus on Grunts and Jackals," Chief said, looking down into the visor of the IV. He could tell that Six was rolling his eyes at the command. Six was the type that wanted the biggest kill. "I know it doesn't seem important, but you know what they're like when they get into a big group. Mainly, just make sure they don't throw any grenades at us."

"Can't you just give that job to the Marines?" Six whined, adopting his childlike tone. Sensing Chief's sharp glare from inside his visor, Six resented. "Okay, fine. I'll do it."

Chief nodded. "Good. Emile, you and I will focus on the Elites. I know that-"

The door blew off its hinges, sending shards of metal flying across the room. No one was wounded by the shrapnel, fortunately. Unfortunately, two Elites had entered the room, each dual-wielding Plasma Rifles and flanked by Grunts.

Bullets and plasma flew through the air, and the Spartans snapped into action. Six brought his DMR to bear, and lined up a Grunt that was dawdling at the back of the group. He fired, nailing the poor little whining methane sucker in the head.

Emile was firing away at one of the Elites, but he was having some difficulties. He had never really be the type of person that used scopes. His favored weapons were the ones with blades or took shotgun shells.

"Damn," he muttered, when his rifle clicked. The Elite's shields had been at the point of breaking, and now it was crouching behind the door, safe from human fire. Emile ejected the empty clip, and tossed it at the Elite just for spite. Instead of reaching for another clip, he grabbed a grenade.

"Grenade out!" He pulled the pin at tossed it toward the door. The grenade made it farther than the clip, and rolled past the door.

Muttered alien cries were heard, followed by an explosion. The Elite staggered out, purple blood gushing from several wounds on its body, and it was missing its left arm. Emile took the pistol off his hip, and shot it in the head. The lifeless corpse fell on top of the dead Grunt slain by Six.

The surviving Grunts had been using the glass screens closest to the door as their cover. The glass had long since shattered in the firefight, but since they were roughly the size of an average human, they managed to squeeze themselves behind the bases of the screens.

The loss of one of their leaders had almost been too much for the little Grunts, as they began to freak out. Their whimpers could easily be heard above the gunfire. Then, they reached the decision to make a suicide run.

Six was ready when the three Grunts came running out of cover and down the middle of the room, each one of them wielding two primed Plasma Grenades. He aimed his DMR, and fired off three shots in rapid succession, adjusting his aim each shot. Each shot went through the cranium of a Grunt.

Unfortunately, the Grunts had made it close enough that when they were killed, their grenades landed just close enough to the Marines' position.

"Get down!" Johnson ordered, running and diving to the side where the Spartans were. The rest of the Marines went the opposite way, some of them retreating up the stairs. The six grenades exploded in what would have been a beautiful display of blue lights, if said display hadn't completely destroyed the barricades and the one Marine that hadn't made it out of the blast radius.

But, save for the alarm ringing out across the station, there was silence. Four Marines went to recover the charred body of their fallen comrade, while the rest went to try to salvage anything useful from the dead aliens. Intel, weapons, whatever.

"That was fun," Six muttered, swapping out his old magazine for a newer one. "They over did it a bit with the last bit. Giant explosions of blue plasma has gotten kinda old for me."

"Nobody cares about your critiquing," Emile muttered, taking the opportunity to reload his weapon. "We only care about the number of aliens that you kill."

"Speaking of killing aliens," Chief cut in, "there's still one more Elite out there. We only took out one." He motioned to the remains of the first Elite...or what was left of it.

Emile sighed and tossed his Battle Rifle to a Marine. "I'll take care of it," he told them, pulling his shotgun off his back. "After all, I need to give my primary firearm a chance to shine before it starts to feel lonely."

He carefully walked out into the middle of the room, sweeping his shotgun left to right. No hingeheads in sight. Emile looked toward the door that the Covenant had blasted through. The only rational option was that the lone Elite was still back there, hiding it out.

The Spartan approached the door, drumming his fingers on the shotgun's pump. Despite his self-proclaimed badass status, walking toward a door where there might be an eight-foot all alien equipped with plasma weapons that were meant for you was a little unnerving.

A red dot appeared on his motion tracker, confirming Emile's suspicions. The Elite was behind the door, and was most likely preparing for another attack. He would have to act quickly and quietly to sneak up on the...you know what? Why bother? Emile wanted a straight fight.

"Hey, split-chin, get out here!" Emile shouted, shifting his shotgun down into a causal stance. He let go of the pump and reached up for his kukri. He spun the knife around a few times, enjoying the feel of the weapon in his hands. While guns were great and all, it always pays to have a good knife at your side. "If you don't come out, then I'm coming in! And trust me, you don't want that!"

Six and Chief shared looks of confusion. "What the hell is he doing?" asked Six. "Why didn't he just sneak up on it and take it out?"

"It's Emile," Chief replied. "You know him. He's keen about killing his enemy face-to-face, rather than just shoot at them from behind a barricade."

"...that doesn't sound very efficient."

"It's not."

"Come on, show yourself!" Emile shouted again, this time his voice bounced off the metal walls. "Fine, screw you, too!" He took out a grenade that he'd swiped from a Marine, and pulled the pin. "Suck on this, motherfucker!"

He tossed the grenade, and the explosive went right through the open door. The grenade exploded, sending up a huge cloud of smoke and sparks. Other than some minor damage to the room, nothing seemed to have changed.

Emile slowly lowered his shotgun. Could he have been wrong about the Elite being in there? No, the dot on the motion tracker was moving. Two blue glowing spheres flew out from the smoke. "Get down!" Emile shouted, diving to the floor as one of the grenades sailed dangerously close over him. It landed just out of range, but Emile still felt the rush of heat when it went off.

The second grenade landed right in the middle of the Marines' barricade. The troops elicited cries of fear and horror as they scrambled out of the grenades range. When the second plasma grenade detonated, the screams turned to those of pain and death.

Chief, Six, and Johnson had safely made it out of the blast radius, but there were many Marines that weren't that lucky. Six dug around in his pouch and produced a can of biofoam, which he tossed to the medic, who used it on himself before attending to the wounded.

Emile pushed himself up, just in time. The Elite came barreling out of the door, dual Plasma Rifles in hand. It aimed the first of its twin weapons at the Marines that were still on their feet, forcing them into cover again. The second one was point at Emile, who was out in the middle of the room, in the open.

Streams of blue bolts few out of the alien weapons, the first hitting an unfortunate Marine in the shoulder and the second began to drain the Spartan's shields. Emile figured that his shields would hold up longer enough, and ran at the Elite.

When he reached it, he slammed the butt of his shotgun into the Elite's hand, knocking the Plasma Rifle from it. The alien roared at the human, and swung its other weapon at the Spartan's head. Emile ducked, and fired point blank range into the Elite's chest.

It roared in pain, using its free hand to clutch its stomach. The shotgun blast hadn't completely hit it; the shields had stopped most of it, but a few stray pieces of buckshot got through. Small trickles of blood began leaking from the small holes in the alien's torso.

The Elite raised its Plasma Rifle at Emile, but the Spartan jumped into the air and spun around, kicking the rifle out of its hand. Emile followed through with another kick, catching the Elite in the chest, right where he'd shot it.

Staggering back, the Elite flicked its wrists, activating the plasma daggers on its wrist. Emile raised an eyebrow, seeing as how he had never seen plasma daggers on an Elite Minor before. But he said nothing as he tossed his shotgun aside and tightened his grip on his kukri, and waited for the Elite's next move.

With another roar, the Elite charged at Emile and stabbed with one hand and swung with another. Emile sidestepped the stab and brought his hand up, catching the Elite's wrist in his fist. He grinned evilly behind his visor as, in one swift motion, he brought his blade back and thrust it into the Elite's chest.

The blade sunk into a gap in the armor, in a place fatal to humans but not as bad for Elites. The alien doubled over in pain, and Emile yanked the kukri out, raised it above his helmet, and slammed it into the Elite's head.

It was powerful thrust, as the blade penetrated the metal helmet of the Elite. The alien's body went limp, only supported by the knife it its head. Emile placed his boot on the Elite's shoulder, and pulled his kukri free. He held it up to the light, and shrugged at the amount of blood and brain fluid on it. "Eh, it'll come off," he muttered, turning back to his comrades. "I got it," he said, motioning to the Elite.

Chief and Six shot each other a look. "Yeah, we noticed. We just wish that you had got it before it killed the Marines." Six nodded toward the medic, who was limping as he and another Marine were moving a body alongside two others.

"Well," Johnson muttered, pulling out a cigar. "We lost five, they lost five. That's not that bad of an outcome." He put the smoke in his mouth, and offered one to each of the Spartans. They all shook their heads. "Oh well, your loss. These are the good old-fashioned types. The best quality around."

"Okay, Six, Emile, we're moving out," Chief said, taking the two Assault Rifle clips from the medic, who had taken them from the dead Marines. "We need to push the Covenant off station. Any other boarding craft as of yet?" he asked, looking over at Six.

Six shrugged. "How the hell would I know?"

"I was talking to your new AI."

"Oh, then why didn't you say so?" Cara asked, her cheery voice came over the radio. "So far, there's been engagements popping up all over the station. The largest concentration of Covenant are occurring near the hangers, so it safe to assume that they are the main point of entrance."

"Then that's where we're going," Chief said matter-of-factly. "Johnson, stay here and keep them out of the bridge. We're going to cut off their entrance."

Johnson nodded. "Understood," he replied, around his cigar. "Normally, I would go with you, but without the Spartans here, someone needs to keep the Admiral alive." The Sergeant Major reached over and ripped a Battle Rifle out of a Marines hands. As it turns out, it was the same Marine that Emile had handed the Battle Rifle to.

Chief nodded to Johnson. "Good luck."

"Likewise, Spartans."

* * *

><p>"Let's move."<p>

"How many?"

Six looked around the corner, and down the hallway. There was an Elite Major toting a Concussion rifle, surrounded by three Grunts. The little aliens yapped to each other, and the larger simply barked out a single command silencing them. "One Elite, three Grunts. Are we sneaking up on them?"

"Six, We're Spartans," Emile replied. "Every single one of us has Hyper-Lethal slapped on our records. It's just four puny aliens, and you ask if we are going to sneak up on them. No. We just going to go there, shoot them the fuck up, and walk away in slow motion."

Bringing up his DMR, Six lined up the crosshairs on the back of the closest Grunt, targeting the methane tank. "So, shoot first, ask questions later?"

"Pretty much."

"Done." Six squeezed the trigger, and the Grunt fell as the sharp crack rang out. The aliens whirled around, and brought their weapons up. Well, the Elite raised it Concussion Rifle. The remaining two Grunts screamed in panic and jumped for cover.

Chief motioned for Emile to get the two Grunts, while he raised his Assault Rifle at the Elite and fired. A spray of bullets slammed into the Elite's shield, and the Elite began to return fire. "Six, give me a hand," ordered Chief, as he ducked down to avoid a barrage of brightly colored plasma bolts.

"On it!" Six swung his rifle over toward the Major and started pumping out bullets. The alien attempted to jump out of the way of the bullets, and it was soon dodging left and right as Chief finished reloading and added to the assault. Two shotgun blasts and two Grunts heading into the afterlife, Emile was in on the action.

The Elite, having no other choice other than to go out swinging, let loose with his Concussion Rifle. Red plasma bolts flew in every direction, and nearly every single one of them missed. One did it its intended target.

"Shit!" Six cried out, as the one bolt of plasma hit him right in the helmet. He dropped his weapon, and clutched his head, before falling to his knees, and then on his face.

Cara the started shouting over the comms. "Six is down! Six is down!"

Emile whipped his head around, and saw that the blue-armored Spartan was laying face on the ground, his shields broken and crackling around him. He wasn't moving; out cold. Well, that happened a lot sooner than he thought it would. How many does this one make? Five?

With a final shot from the shotgun, the Elite jerked back and purple blood sprayed from its upper right shoulder. Emile slung the weapon onto his back, and he and Chief ran over to Six's side. Chief went over the basic routine, checking pulse and all.

"He seems fine to me," the Spartan II said, rolling Six over onto his back. "Looks like his shields took most of the blast. At least his vitals are still online," he muttered, bringing them up on his HUD. "He should be fine, just give him a minute to get back into it."

Emile huffed and walked back over to the dead Major, and swiped the dead Elite's weapon. "I think this will do nicely," he said to himself, and began searching over the Elite's body for extra ammo. "You know, I'm really starting to worry about Six."

"Why's that?"

"Well, he's the one who takes most of the bullets. If he dies, then who's left to fill that role?"

"...Shut up. For a moment there, I actually thought I was beginning to see some emotion coming from you, Emile," Chief noted, rising from Six's unconscious form. "He's fine. No major injuries, other than getting knocked out."

Emile shrugged. "I don't know. It is Six we're talking about. He could start going crazy again. Didn't we determine that it was getting injured that caused Six's mental problems?"

Chief replied with a small nod. "Yes. We did." Neither of them really liked to bring that subject up. Chief reached down and gathered up Six's body in his arms, and propped the unconscious Spartan against the wall. "Cara?" he asked, tasting slight disdain on his tongue as his mouth formed the word.

The AI tried to force a smile as she appeared on the comms screen on Chief's HUD. "Reporting for duty? How can I help you?" Her virtual eyes were wrought with worry; she really feared for Six's state.

"How is he?" Chief asked. "Six is fine, right?"

"His vitals are normal, and his shields took most of the impact," Cara replied, clasping her hands behind her back and looking down at her feet. "It was a direct headshot, so his face suffered some slight burns, and his armor is a little banged up." Now that she pointed it out, Chief did see the dent in Six's chest plate. "That won't impair his armor's functionality, but it does make his armor a little less aesthetically pleasing."

"Suits him well," quipped Emile.

Chief cast the Spartan III a long glance, but then a curt nod. "Cara, is there anything that you can do to wake him up? We really need to get moving. We could been up to our neck in Covenant any minute." As if to punctuate his sentence, a muffled plasma explosion could be heard from the floor above them.

Cara rubbed the back of her neck. "Well, I suppose I can. His brain is a little shook up from the plasma bolt, but there should be no permanent damage. Let me just..."

A few seconds later, Six began stirring. He looked around, trying to figure out where he was and what had happened. It didn't take long, and after about thirty seconds of waking up, he was crawling over to his DMR and standing up.

"...so, I got knocked out?" he asked, looking at his allies. "That hingehead knocked me out."

Emile nodded. "Shouldn't be that hard to figure out."

Chief looked Six up and down. "Are you okay to fight?" he asked, in the same tone a parent would to their injured child that wanted to play sports. "Cara and I agree that you're fine, but just a little shaken up."

Six shrugged. "I guess so..." he trailed off, slowly looked off to the side.

"Um...Six?"

"What?"

Chief gestured to the door. "We need to get going."

Six nodded, and walked over the Covenant corpse toward their objective. He suddenly stopped, and cast a glance over his shoulder. "How many Marines do we have with us?"

"None," Emile replied, popping in a new battery for the Concussion Rifle. "It's just you, Chief, and baby makes three." He frowned at the statement. Why in the hell did he just refer to himself as a baby?

Six looked forward again, and started walking. "That's what I was afraid of."

* * *

><p><em><strong>A<strong>/**N: This chapter was beta-ed by the following: Dejae**_

_Stoneificaunt: **Thanks for the reviews! They're really appreciated.**_

_**Happy two-year anniversary of Halo 4's release! Also, only five days until the release of the Master Chief Collection!**_

_**Peace out!**_


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